Volcanoes Melt Me Down
by agggron
Summary: What is meant to be a simple mission is compromised when Agron's jealousy gets the better of him.


It was with gentle fingers that Agron gathered Nasir's hair, lifting it away from his neck so he could slip the slave's collar around the Syrian's throat. Agron hated seeing it there again, but they'd learned from the last time. A man claiming to be a slave must have the mark of one, and Nasir's job that day would be to play such a role. It was one he knew well, one he would play convincingly.

No doubt Nasir was glad to be able to help, but Agron's feelings were split. To have Nasir by his side in this would be both a comfort and a worry to him. He'd be glad to see the Syrian in action, but if the time came for Agron to protect him and he was unable… He wouldn't forgive himself. he'd barely forgiven himself for letting Nasir go to the mines without him.

But there was much to do, and all had already been decided. It would be a small group going into Neapolis that day; only Agron, Nasir, Donar, and a man to steer the cart. Spartacus would remain behind; his face was too well-known, now, and not even a hooded cloak would be able to hide him where they were going. The plan was simple enough; they would go to the slave-trader, the one who ran the docks, under the pretense of looking over the wares for their dominus. And there, they would find a docking schedule. With that information, the dates and times of every arrival of every ship filled to brimming with fighting men from other shores, their numbers would grow.

With Nasir's help, a cloth was wrapped around Agron's forearm to hide the mark of the brotherhood. No doubt Batiatus' name reached far and wide, even to Neapolis where such a mark would be recognized. As Nasir tied a knot in the cloth, Agron watched him for a moment before speaking. "I'll be the one to rip collar from throat when we return," he promised. The Syrian paused in his work, though he never took his gaze from it, and smiled that mild, slow smile Agron was so fond of.

The time had come for them to leave. The journey wouldn't be long by cart, and the mission itself, if everything went smoothly, would hardly take any time at all. But it was so rare that things actually go according to plan with them. A fact Agron was painfully aware of.

He climbed into the back of the cart with Nasir and Donar. Spartacus stood outside and looked in on them. "Travel safely," he advised, "and tread carefully. Get what you need and get out." The Thracian nodded to the three of them and moved to the front of the cart, where he no doubt gave the driver similar words of caution.

"So easily said," Agron mused, leaning back and getting comfortable for the ride. He shot Nasir, who sat across from him, a grin. "Let's pray to the fucking gods it's so easily done."

But for all his bravado, part of Agron dreaded Neapolis, if only for the memories it would bring him. That city was where he and his brother were brought and sold as slaves what seemed like a lifetime ago. The very slaver they were to see may have been the one whose hand exchanged their lives for coin and sent them on their way to the house of Batiatus. The same house on whose sands Duro had died. No matter how badly he wished it, these weren't things he would soon forget.

So as they traveled and as the city drew nearer, so did this dread. He knew what he had to do and he would do it, so fucking help him, but not even this set purpose could keep the darkening expression from his face. It was an expression that Nasir must have seen because, when Donar was turned away - no doubt for Agron's own benefit, as the gladiator wouldn't have wanted the other man to see this restlessness in him - he leaned forward and touched Agron's knee. It was the gentlest of touches, just to remind Agron that he was there, and it was much appreciated. Agron took that hand and lifted it to his lips, briefly pressing a kiss against Nasir's knuckles. It may have been better that Nasir was there with him after all.

Soon they were within the city, and through crowded streets they made their way, on foot now, to the docks. Nasir walked ahead; Agron and Donar were both behind him, meant to serve as protection. Because a body slave was precious to a dominus, at least enough that he warranted a couple of bodyguards in such a large city with unknown dangers in every alleyway. That was their story, at the very least. Nasir looked unassuming enough in his collar and fine clothes that it would seem he'd need such guardians.

The slaver they met was the very embodiment of what he did for a living; he was disgusting, made fat on the money that he received for the lost souls that passed through the place, soiled to the bone and with teeth blackened, no doubt, by the words he spoke every day to condemn other men to slavery.

How Nasir even managed to look the man in the face, to hold a conversation with him, was beyond Agron. He was impressed, though; there was no trace of the stubborn, wild little dog he'd come to know. There was only obedience, deference, gentility - or, at least, as much gentility as a lowly slave, even one with such a station as 'body slave', could possess.

"My dominus wishes to know the quality of men that pass through here," Nasir said to the slaver, "and uses me as eyes and ears."

The slaver's gaze slid over Nasir in such a way that made Agron narrow his eyes. It was a look he couldn't have mistaken; the disgusting man's mind was turned toward more than business. "And does your dominus have a name, or am I meant to fucking guess."

It was going exactly as expected. Exactly as Nasir had predicted, actually. He knew better how slavery worked, far better than any of the gladiators. The Syrian produced a purse from his pocket and dropped the coin into the slaver's grubby fingers. "He wishes to remain anonymous, for now. More coin will find hand for your discretion."

The slaver paused for a moment, weighed the purse in his hand, then smiled an unpleasant smile. "This way." He started walking, but paused a moment, turning to look at them. "And who are these mountains walking at your back?" he asked, nodding toward Agron and Donar. Nasir glanced over his shoulder and met Agron's gaze briefly, but then his attention was on the slaver once again.

"Protection," he said simply, without missing a beat. "There are people in this city who would take advantage." Agron couldn't see Nasir's face, but something in his expression was making the slaver grin again. It was in that moment that Agron wanted nothing more than to grab Nasir by the arm and drag him bodily from that place. Something didn't sit right with him.

Nasir's words seemed to satisfy the slaver, and the group of them continued walking. They were within a huge building, walking along pathways that surrounded a large courtyard where, Agron remembered, the slaves were put on display to be sold. He'd walked these same halls before, only in chains. But he tried not to dwell on it. They had a job to do, and getting lost in memory would not help the job come to completion.

Soon, the group turned to go down a staircase. Underneath their feet, Agron knew, were endless cages, a prison to keep the enslaved men. It was then that the slaver started pointing some out, speaking such high words of praise - no doubt for this fake dominus' benefit - they might have been gods instead of slaves.

The tour ended, in time, and they were led back upstairs and into yet another room. This one looked promising. There were papers strewn over an unorganized desk and the way the room smelled exactly like the slaver must have meant that this was his office. Agron had been so busy looking around and trying to determine whether or not what they needed was within these four walls that he hadn't noticed the conversation happening between Nasir and the slaver. But he noticed now.

"Tell me, what does a body slave do for his dominus?" the slaver asked, sitting his fat body on the edge of his desk. The wood groaned underneath the weight.

"I tend to my dominus' every need," Nasir answered smoothly.

That seemed to delight the slaver. "His every need. I have need of something, little man."

The use of that endearment from something so disgusting made Agron scowl and clench his jaw. Those words were not the slaver's to use. And not in that tone, not toward Nasir. Agron curled his hands into fists, his gaze now intent on the slaver as the man pulled his great weight off the desk and moved toward Nasir. The closer the slaver got to the Syrian, the harder it was for Agron to remain where he was. He would punch those disgusting teeth down that slimy throat. One more step and Agron began to move forward—

But before he could lift one foot off the ground, a hand grabbed onto his wrist. Agron looked quickly to his side, where Donar stood. The gladiator gave one short shake of his head, almost imperceptible, and that stopped Agron. He pulled his wrist out of Donar's grip and turned to glare at the slaver again, his breathing just a little more shallow than it had been before. His anger, once unleashed, was difficult to reign in again.

He would have been able to control himself, had it not been for the slaver's next words. "Tell your dominus I required more payment than offered," that drawling voice said, "to hold my tongue. And that I took the payment from flesh." Then the fat man reached out and snatched Nasir by his arm to pull him close - but he got no further than that.

With a growl, Agron leaped forward and was upon him. Both fell to the floor, Agron on top of the other man, and he drew his fist back to punch that disgusting face again and again, until he felt things break under his fist. Agron was lost in his own mind, in the blind fury that surged through him at the very idea of this man touching Nasir. It wasn't until two pairs of hands grabbed him and dragged him away that he came back himself, only slightly. He was breathing hard, sitting there on the floor, and his fist was covered in blood. He'd left the slaver's face beaten to a pulp.

"_Brother_," Donar said, and he roughly took the side of Agron's face in his hand, forcing the gladiator's blue eyes toward him. "Control yourself. Half of the fucking city will be upon us if we don't leave before discovery."

Nasir had already drawn away from the two of them and was rifling through the papers on the slaver's desk, pushing things aside before finding what he needed. "Here," he breathed, quickly folding the paper and tucking it into some secret place. It was in that moment that a groan sounded from the unmoving sack of flesh and bones that Agron had left on the floor. Agron had hoped to kill the Roman shit; he started to get up and make sure he succeeded this time, but Donar held him back.

"Where is your head?" the gladiator snapped, pulling Agron back. "Nasir," Donar then said, pleaded.

The Syrian approached quickly and gently took Agron's face in both of his hands. This time, Agron's eyes focused, his attention stolen from the slaver. "We must leave," Nasir said in a low, level voice. Agron blinked and then nodded, reaching up to tap at the arms Donar had wrapped around him. A surrender. Agron was freed and he climbed to his feet, his body still humming with the rage he'd unleashed only moments ago. And, before they could be discovered, the three left the room, left the building, left Neapolis behind them. The cart was waiting at the outskirts of the city to take them back to the temple.

"Remind me to never even look at your fucking Syrian," Donar said, clapping Agron on the back as they climbed into the cart. Agron snorted, though it wasn't in laughter. His anger had not left yet him and his humor had not yet returned. He sat back in the cart and flexed the fingers of the hand he'd used to bash in the slaver's face. It ached and his knuckles were bloodied and bruised, but he cared nothing of it.

"They'll notice the schedule has been taken," Nasir said when he settled into his seat. "I had hoped to write it down instead."

"Before or after the slaver bent you over his desk and forced cock in ass?" Agron snapped. He wasn't angry at Nasir, and no doubt the Syrian would know that. He was angry at himself for losing control and, perhaps, ruining their plans to liberate the men being shipped into Neapolis. Would they change the schedule once they realized it had gone missing? Would they even realize that it had been stolen, or would they only think it misplaced? All would remain a mystery until Spartacus and the rest arrived back in the city during the next shipment.

"Clear your mind of unpleasant thought," Donar offered, looking quite a deal more pleased than Agron did. "We got what we came for."

But not without some unnecessary complications. Agron wasn't convinced he hadn't made a most grave mistake. His guilt was lessened, though, when Nasir leaned forward in his seat across from Agron, and gestured for the gladiator to do the same. They met in the middle, faces close.

"I will show you my gratitude for what you did for me," Nasir said, a teasing promise in his tone. Finally, a characteristic grin from Agron. He pressed his forehead against the other man's and they were so close that their eyelashes mingled. There was yet one more thing Agron had to do for Nasir. Reaching out, he slid his fingertips over the Syrian's throat before grabbing the slave's collar and ripping it off. It dropped to the floor of the cart and lay there, hopefully never again to be picked up.

A dangerous thing had revealed itself that day. It had been revealed that Agron, with no thought of himself or of the rebellion, would do anything it took to keep Nasir from harm. Carefully laid plans would be forgotten. Sacrifices would be made. And all to see this Syrian safely to his arms, untouched and unsoiled, no matter the cost.


End file.
